Through The Eyes Of

Can You Handle It?

Alan Niven
This band was going to be the death of me, I was sure of it. David Geffen himself and I were in the car on our way over to the house that the guys had lived in all of one night to see what the fuck had gone down here the night before. I'd gotten a call last night from Geffen who had gotten a call from Tom Zutaut, one of our publicity guys who would be spending the next few days in the hospital thanks to my newly signed delinquents. Tom said that they had beat up because they thought he stole drugs from them but something doesn't sit right with his story.

Those guys could get whatever drugs they wanted from Izzy if he had the connections I reckoned him to. They had decent money from their advance right at this second; the disappearance of some coke wouldn't send them into the kind of rage that had been exerted on Zutaut. The guy had teeth knocked out and broken ribs and a broken nose and who the fuck knows what all. I don't see any of those guys losing their cool over dope like that. Shit though, who knows what people will do on coke? I'd also gotten a call from Electra chewing my ass because their precious Nikki had gotten arrested over there at whatever party they were throwing; they want me to talk to them about toning it down and not causing trouble that brings cops. My head is starting to hurt.

We drive up to the house and the first thing I notice is that the tree in the front yard has been uhhh damaged somehow? Two huge limbs have broken off of it and it's split almost in half; how the fuck did they manage that? Do I even want to know? Geffen gets out of the car and raises his eyebrows at me; I just shrug. We walk up onto the porch and I try the door before I knock and it's not locked. Geffen and I walk into the living room, which is a wreck; liquor bottles and beer cans and cigarettes everywhere; must have been one hell of a party. Passed out on the two cheap, broken down couches are none other than Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee; apparently they didn't follow Electra's directions to go home immediately after they got let out of handcuffs. I go over and shake Nikki awake and Geffen wakes up Tommy. There's a lot of moaning and groaning and cursing but they eventually are awake enough to understand who's standing in front of them. "Allen what the fuck are you doing here? We didn't invite you to the party!" Nikki growls.

"Yeah, well, I'm here to clean up your mess Sixx. Where's my band?" I ask.

"Upstairs asleep I imagine; or maybe not," he says with that enigmatic smirk of his.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I ask him.

"Nothing," he answers and lights up a cigarette. Yeah right, any time that look is on his face it's not nothing.

"I'll go get them," I tell David but he just shakes his head.

"I'm coming with you, might as well know what we're dealing with here. It's my money after all," he says as he walks behind me up the stairs. We get to the first bedroom door and I open it to find a passed out Steven with his arm slung over a big breasted brunette. No surprises there. I wake him up and tell him to get his ass downstairs pronto. The room across the hall holds some surprises though. Izzy and Axl are curled up in one of the two twin beds in the room; Izzy's body spooned around Axl's whose face looks a little puffy and red like he'd been crying at some point. Well, that wasn't something I thought I would see this morning but whatever...except this is going to be a PR nightmare if it ever gets out that these guys are gay? Bi? Who knows but I need to market them to a female audience. Geffen, who is very openly gay reaches over and shakes Izzy's shoulder. Izzy's sitting up in a second with a gun pointed at us.

"Izzy what the fuck? Do you sleep with that thing under your fucking pillow? It's me, Alan and Geffen..." I trail off when he lowers his arm and just outright glares at us.

"The fuck do you want?" he snarls, looking down at Axl who is blinking sleep out his eyes and shifting around a little.

"We need to know what went down here last night, meet us downstairs. Any surprises waiting for us across the hall? Anyone else have guns? Knives? Hand grenades? Rocket launchers?"